


the things i would do, if you'd give me a chance

by kenopsia (indie)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Both of them are underage, F/M, Female!Yusuf, First Times, Genderbend, Schmoop, Teenage characters, Virgin Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/pseuds/kenopsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuf's first time is quite a disappointment. Eames wants to give her a do-over. </p><p>Or: <i>Put me in the game, coach.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the inceptiversary rarepairs week. I'd meant to wrap this up, but it didn't happen this week, so maybe the wrap up tomorrow night.

Yusuf is crying. This is the problem with having a bird for a best mate.

“I’m not crying,” she says, through tears. _Tearfully_.

What _the fuck_ is Eames supposed to do with that? “You’re sort of crying,” he says.

Yusuf laughs, and it comes out a sad, wet little hiccup. “Budge over,” he says, climbing onto her bed and wedging himself between her and the wall. She tucks herself against his chest, face in his neck. “What happened, love,” he says, brushing piles of wild curls to the other side of her head before they can sneak into his mouth. They’re damp against his face like she’s fresh from the shower.

“It’s stupid,” she says. She’s speaking to Eames’ collarbone. Her face is hot beneath the sheen of tears.

“Alright,” he says, running a hand down her back, palm dragging against the raspy linen of her shirt. “You don’t have to talk about it. I came over her to get you to help me with physics, though. Are you ready to talk about that?”

Yusuf laughs again, and it sounds a little less heartbroken this time. “You know I am always ready to talk about physics,” she says, but she doesn’t move, so he doesn’t either. They cuddle, there is no better descriptor, Eames and his best friend, her soft, doughy hands squashed between them. He counts it a small victory that the little hideously sad noises start to taper off.

“Or we could talk about the other thing,” Eames says, finally, putting his nose in her hairline, the fine spirals of hair there tickling the sensitive skin of his lips.

“I’m not sure why I’m acting like a girl,” Yusuf says, wiping at her eyes.

“You are a girl,” he points out, rubbing his chin over the curve of her neck and watching her shoulders immediately scrunch up to ward him off.

“I’m not usually a girl full of feelings,” she says, as if her own humanity has betrayed her.

Eames gives a little laugh. “We really can talk about physics if you’d rather.”

Yusuf frowns. “I — feel like an idiot.”

“I reject that feeling out of hand,”Eames says. “You’re brilliant.”

Yusuf gets up, pushing against his chest to help launch herself to her feet and Eames follows her to her mirror where she takes a wet cloth from a package and starts to swipe around her smudged eyes. “Stephen wanted to have sex.”

Eames’ stomach took a lurch. “And, you didn’t?” he asks, feeling his nebulous unhappiness he’d been feeling in solidarity with her mood coalesce into something with more intent, fiercer, and suddenly he is ready to sink his knuckles into some asshole’s face.

Yusuf plants her palm on the hinge of his elbow. “No, stop, not like that,” she says, but Eames is good at looking at people and knowing what they’re thinking, how they’re feeling. He knows she’s glad to have seen the reaction in him that she did. He lets his discontent bubble near the surface for her viewing pleasure.  She looks back at herself, finally, tapping her cheeks with her fingers and letting out a little huff. She reaches for one of the tubs of cream on the shelf and starts to apply it with a wedge-shaped sponge. “It was just… terrible.”

“Did he hurt you,” Eames rasps.

“Not on purpose,” Yusuf says, swiping a wrist across her face. “I don’t know. I’m just really disappointed that it didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?”

“I didn’t, you know,” she says.

“Orgasm?” Eames guesses, and Yusuf flushes down her neck.

“Like I said,” she bites out, slamming things around her table, uncapping a lipstick but then capping it without putting it on, picking up various other tubes and boxes and putting them in a bag.

Eames grabs her wrist. “If you say it’s stupid again,” Eames growls, letting it trail off. There’s no real threat he wants to make, he just wants her to know that it isn’t.

“It certainly wasn’t my brightest idea,” Yusuf says, nervously finger combing through the bramble of her curls.

Eames puts his chin on her shoulder to see from her angle, looks at them both in the mirror. “You don’t look any different,” he assures her, nose to her cheek, “and you don’t smell any different.”

“I didn’t think I would,” Yusuf says. “Obviously. That would be silly.”

And yet, here she is, still making eye contact with herself in her mirror. “So what happened,” Eames presses. “Did he just give up? What made it so awful?”

“He didn’t give up,” Yusuf said, faltering. “There was just no, I don’t know, it was just. And then, eventually, when I was bored and embarrassed and I could tell he was getting annoyed, I just. I don’t know. Squeaked a little bit and flexed my stomach.”

Eames frowns. “That sucks. I’m sorry, Yus.”

Yusuf gives a shrug. “I’m just trying to forget about it. Everyone has a crummy first time, right?”

“Oh,” Eames says, and for the first time in this conversation it is his turn to be wrong-footed. “I don’t know.”

Which is certainly not something he’d meant to admit.

“Oh,” she says back, looking fully at him. “No?”

“No,” he says, embarrassed. “I was going to, at the Easter break. With Rupert, but he sort of panicked and left before we got our trousers off.”

“Huh.”

"Yeah."

“I didn't expect to go first.”

“I'm sorry it didn't work out for you.”

After a quiet minute, he says, “what could have gone better?” out of pure curiosity.

“More kissing?” Yusuf hazards.

“Fair enough,” Eames says. “Kissing is fun.”

“Other than that. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I was so stressed out that at one point I was pretending I was watching a David Attenborough doc.”

“Oh my god,” Eames says, putting his face in his hands, on the edge of laughing.

“Not funny. I was basically thinking about corvids until I got fed up.”

Eames wrapped his arm around Yusuf’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze. She leans down into him, close as a vine against the wall of him. He’s not as broad as he wants to be, yet, but he’s starting to see hints of the man he will grown into. “You deserved better,” he tells her, “you deserve someone who loves you.”

She gives a little disbelieving huff, Eames knocks into her forehead with his own. “Don’t huff; you do.”

“When I go off to uni,” she says, careful, “maybe there will be something. Right now, you know, boys we go to school with, can’t see past, you know,” she says, flapping her hands uselessly in the direction of herself. “Me.”

“Surface you is brilliant though, innit,” Eames says.

Yusuf, bloody Yusuf, who knows everything about geology and taxonomy and the newest advances in natural resources, mean as a swan when she’s full of righteous fury but gorgeous when her eyes go soft, doesn’t seem to know that. She’s always embarrassed, always hiding.

Eames has never kissed Yusuf before, but he’s thought about it. It had always seemed like a bad idea, because she was always so wrapped up in her own interesting head, and scoffing as the other sixth-formers paired off. Everyone got stupid in pairs, she was always saying, and always with a healthy layer of disinterest in men. Eames was always just glad he’d been granted access to her mind, like a finely crafted historic manor, with passageways leading to places no one expected.

Yusuf is taller than Eames, by a fraction of an inch. The height of Yusuf is pretty much his arch-nemesis. He tilts his head up at her, lingers long enough for her to notice what he’s angling for, and then presses his mouth to hers, warm, firm, soft.

“Yusuf,” Eames says, her name like fresh water, he doesn’t move away, speaks into the space between them, voice heavy and stripped of humor, “You deserve someone who loves you... Do you want a do-over?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is 2.5k of detailed, fumbling (but thoughtful!) teenaged fooling around. It is silly; I have no excuses.

“Are you,” she says, visibly swallowing, “someone that...”

“Loves you?”

She nods.

“Of course I am,” Eames says, reeling her in close again. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits.

“You can say _yes_ , or you can say _no thanks Eames, my love for Stephen will overpower his physical ineptitude_.”

“Ugh. You know I’m not with Stephen. It just, it was starting to seem like it was never going to happen, and he kind of offered, and I thought, _might as well._ ”

Stephen, Eames knows, because he sees him frequently at school, is a bit rubbish. He wonders if he offered like it was a favor, like _he’d_ be adding something to Yusuf’s life, and the thought makes him angry. He hasn’t yet given up on the thought that he will be presented with (or engineer, himself) the opportunity to punch him in the face some time soon.

“So… you’re going with the first option,” Eames says, giving his eyebrows a friendly waggle.

“I can’t sleep with both of you in the same week. I’ll look like a slag,” Yusuf says.

“To whom?” Eames asks, surprised, but she just looks at him pointedly. “Fuck off,” he laughs, “you think I’m going to seduce you and then not respect you in the morning for it?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles.

“Listen, Yus, whether or not you and I have sex is your business. And if we _do_ , that’ll be _our_ business. You think I need people to think I’ve had sex? They do, already. People think, sight unseen, that I am a _sex god_. And if that stupid fuck-head Stephen Mason is going to talk shit about you, I’m going to punch his teeth in.”

Yusuf chews on her lower lip, and Eames brushes his chin with his modest stubble over the shell of her ear. Eames can feel her full body shudder at that, and feels warm with amusement and fondness, and yes, of course, love. “Or we can go ride the Orbital all day to get you out of the flat.”

Yusuf’s voice gets very quiet, barely a whisper. “My tits are all bra,” she confesses, and Eames laughs, squeezing her around the small of her back and lifting her off the ground to give her a quick spin.

“I’m sure everything is lovely,” he says, and deposits her back down on the flat geometry of her made-bed, the soft but practical green duvet.

“I just didn’t want you to get a nasty shock,” she says, mouth curving into a sliver of a smile, and finally, _finally_ , she looks like Eames likes her best, calm and teasing, resting back on one elbow.

“Perish the thought,” he says, and climbs onto her bed next to her, leaning above her. “Tell me if you want to get off this ride.”

“You’re the virgin,” Yusuf grins, reaching up to flick him on his eyebrow where the little scar cuts it in two. “Tell me if you’re going to have a panic attack.”

“Alright,” he agrees, ernest. “But _you_ have to promise me not to fake anything. I can’t promise this is going to be good, but I’m going to work my arse off and you’ll mess me up if you pretend something is good when it isn’t.”

Yusuf nods at him and lets her head fall back. Eames moves over her in one quick swing of his knee, positioning himself around her, framing the spread of her hips with his knees and planting a hand beside her head to keep his balance with. He can feel the fine, wet silk of her hair against the inside of his wrist, tickling a little.

Yusuf stops breathing, like this has all happened a little fast, and he leans down, close enough to see all the nuanced earthy rainbow of her eyes, grown and gold and mottled green like the afternoon sun outdoors, and hovers.

“Well?” she breathes.

“Well,” he grins, lazy, and leans down to press the pad of his lips against the tip of her nose.

She lets out a pleased, amused little huff. Eames moves to kiss her again, keeping his touch light and hovering above her body so as not to crush her. He moves his mouth against hers, sweet and soft, and waits for that tentative swipe of her tongue to add a little heat.

The two of them both have ample lips — he has the absurd, brief thought that their children would have champion pouts — and he spends long minutes blurring his mouth against hers, languid and affectionate. Yusuf curls one hand around the side of his ribcage just under his arm, and luckily that hand stays still, otherwise he’d lose the secret of his extreme ticklishness there.

Yusuf’s other hand, and it is rapidly becoming his favorite of the two, is tracing a delicate path with fingertips and the softest scrape of nail down the side of his neck and back up, circuitous and lazy.

Eames still has himself propped up on one elbow and his knees when Yusuf starts to tug down on his shoulder. “You want,” he says, “what?”

“Just get down here,” Yusuf says, mouth red.

“I’m not trying to crack your ribs,” Eames says, pausing every few words to smack a close-mouthed kiss against her lips.

“You’re not big enough to crack a rib,” she says, and Eames, frowning, does as she asks, moving from kneeling over her to a more stretched out pose.

“Unf,” she huffs.

“Rib check,” Eames says.

“All fine,” she says, delicious and soft under him, so he goes back to kissing her. Her mouth is so expressive, he keeps feeling her lips flex in amusement against his, closes his eyes and relishes the feeling of her grinning through their kisses.

“Are you going to,” she says, between individual kisses, “do anything else, anytime soon?”

“Shh,” he says, “we’re kissing right now.”

She groans. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Eames shushes her again, sweetly, before moving to kiss her on her forehead, but then he dips over to her neck, lipping delicately at the side of it before opening his mouth against the soft skin there. “You can tell me anything,” Eames hums against her neck, tasting, testing, teasing.

“You’re so hot,” she says, and he rewards her with a scrape of teeth against the underside of her jaw.

“Thanks,” he grins, petting down her side, through her shirt.

“Can I,” he asks, when he gets to the collar of her shirt.

“As long as you remember the thing.”

“Tits on the small side,” Eames says, dry, “got it.”

He peels from the bottom, leaning down to kiss at soft skin as he exposes it. By the time he’s got her down to her practical beige bra, she’s sighing into his touch.

“Now for the big reveal,” Eames grins as Yusuf arches up to give him access to the clasp of her bra. He works at it with one hand before he reaches the other one down as well to push them together more efficiently.

“Little reveal,” Yusuf corrects.

“You just relax with the sassy-talk about the breasts,” Eames says, easing it off by both shoulders and setting it beside her head on the duvet. “They’re going to get a complex.”

He addresses the breasts in question. “Aren’t you lovely,” he says, and leans down to peck a clothed mouth kiss against her nipple. He does it a few times before opening his mouth around it. Yusuf, beneath him, jolts. “Not good?”

“Weird,” she admits. “Just when your mouth was open.”

“Sorry,” he says, moving back to touch, navigating her uncovered body like a blind archaeologist, as if everything he knows is dependent on touch, careful and exhaustive.

Yusuf lets him for a long while, looking equal parts indulgent and pleased, before she moves to sit up, going for his shirt and pulling it over his head. Eames gives a little flex of his left arm for her, and she curls her hand around his bicep. “That’s my good one,” he informs her helpfully.

“They’re both good ones,” she says, and moves her hands to the planes of his stomach, and yeah, he’s pretty proud of that too.

He lets her explore, but then goes for the clasp of her denims, checking in with her before he peels them down the soft length of her thighs. She lifts her hips helpfully.

Yusuf’s underpants are striped, seafoam green and white, and Eames is stupidly charmed. He leans down to place a little kiss on the front of them, just below her waistband. He can feel the soft give of her hair beneath, and his insides go liquid momentarily.

“Can I kiss you there?” he whispers.

“You just did,” she grins.

“You know what I mean.”

“Don’t you want to have sex already?” she says, squirming beneath him.

“Yus, I’m going to level with you. My penis is going to be inside of you for about a minute before I go into cardiac arrest. It is important we do lots of interesting things before then.”

“Do what you must,” she says, sighing like he’s just asked her to carry some great burden.

Eames hooks two fingers into her waistband at her hip, and dragging them to the other side. Her hips roll with the motion, as if chasing his touch. “In the vastness of the pacific, there’s a place unlike any other,” he says, putting on his best impression. He’s pretty good at voices, but he usually uses them to call the school pretending to be one of their fathers, or to make fun of a teacher. He’s never used one to turn someone on before. “Enchanted volcanic islands that are home to a remarkable collection of animals and plants.”

Yusuf laughs, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I’m turned on or horrified by that, and once again, I have arrived at the realization that _I can’t tell you anything_!”

“Nonsense,” Eames says, and touches his thumb to the bottom of her pants. Eames’ cock, which has been consistently interested since Yusuf first asked him to crush her with his bulk is now capable of independent thought and is adding helpful running commentary that goes something like _fucking soaked, Eames, that is so slippery, she wants us and you want her put me in the game, coach_. “And, I could make an educated guess.”

He gets her underwear off after that, and situates himself between her legs. He’s never done this before, but he’s got plenty of secret issues of playboy stashed away and no matter what Yusuf says, he does actually know how to read. He knows this is the important part.

He’s not even really nervous.

That's a lie. He’s a little nervous, he can admit to himself as he moves to put his mouth against her, licking and kissing, timidly at first, but getting chuffed as she reacts above him, gasping and breathing hard and tensing her thighs, arching her back to meet his mouth when he comes up to breathe.  She really is wet, and he presses his knuckle against the source while he kisses at the little bundle of nerves that makes her jump beneath him.

She reaches down to touch him and he ends up holding her hand in his free one, afraid he’s going to come against her duvet when she starts to make a string of demure little noises, “ _ah ah ah, E—s_ ,” like her voice gave out in the middle of his name, feeling the rapid-fire bursts coming from inside of her, his mouth sealed around her and sucking in earnest as she makes desperate little mewling noises.

“Was that real,” Eames demands, thrilled and flushed with victory, but stopping to make sure.

“Yes,” she croaks, turning her face to her pillow like she’s run out of steam.

“High five,” Eames demands, and she touches his palm weakly. “Can I do that one more time, and then, you know?”

“You can literally do whatever you want,” she says, gorgeous and uncoiled. Eames leans down to peck an excited kiss against her breast, forehead and eyeball for good measure before getting comfortable, shucking his trousers so he can palm his cock through his pants as he goes back to suckling on Yusuf’s private spaces, softer now because she looks so relaxed, but building again.

She gets off a seconds time, softer but just as interesting for him, and he slides a finger inside of her. She’s slick inside, slick and snug and hot to the touch and he curls lazily inside until he think’s he might genuinely be climbing into tachycardia, and he gropes for his wallet in his discarded trousers and fumbles out a rubber packet, opens it with wet fingertips.

“Where did that come from? I thought you hadn’t...”

“Hope springs eternal,” Eames says, sliding it on in a practiced move.

“I don’t know why that’s so sexy,” she says, moving one knee further out and arching up towards him.

“Oh baby,” Eames says, using his knack for voices for a second time in the same evening to affect Yusuf’s accent, “be concerned about my physical health and behave responsibly towards my reproductive system a little harder, because you know I feel uncomfortable about abortifacients but I also can’t possibly have kids until after my post-doc.”

“Well, yeah,” she says, touching his face absently with a little smile, as if she knows he’s teasing, but beneath the teasing, he’s hit the nail on the head.

*

“I can’t believe you just did that to me,” Yusuf says, when it’s all over.  Eames is wrapped around her like a pretzel, his soft, sleepy cock dormant against her hip and one hand curled fondly around the breast closest to him. He sits up, immediately, to look at her. Her eyelashes are damp; his stomach drops.

“What,” he says, feeling blank.

“How the hell am I supposed to have sex with other people now. Bad friend move. You’ve messed me up.”

Oh. Eames settles his face back onto Yusuf’s shoulder, kissing it absently and closing his eyes. “Then don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t have sex with people that aren’t me,” Eames suggests, a little hopeful. “Just … have sex with me again.”

“And what about you?”

“I will… be having sex with you, also?” Eames replies, puzzled. “In this hypothetical world where you are having sex with me.”

“And?”

“And?” Eames yawps, clutching his heart. “There can’t be any _ands_ , you cheeky brat … what would Stephen think if I slept with you and _ands_?”

Yusuf, beneath him, goes languid, as if some thought had tightened her muscles like a bent bowstring, but now it was leaving.

_ Good riddance to it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The David Attenborough impression is from his Galapagos documentary.


End file.
